


Blueshift

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Balar, Gen, the twins are NOT happy to be here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: The arrival of the peredhel twins on Balar during the War of Wrath was unlooked for and unannounced. It's going to require adjustments for all involved - Elrond, Elros, and their new guardian Gil-galad.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Ereinion Gil-galad
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Blueshift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/gifts).



Gil-galad rubbed his eyes tiredly as he entered his rooms.

He was sure the previous Kings of the Noldor – or even princes – hadn’t had to spend this much time in endless meetings. He certainly didn’t remember it. (He shoved aside the wholly rational and highly irritating thought that he wouldn’t have been old enough to remember if his great-uncle or grandfather  _ had _ been stuck in meetings all day long, seeing as he’d been all of seven when Grandfather died and he’d been sent to the Falas.)

One of these days, he was going to give in to the urge to scream during a Council session. Especially now that there was not only the usual complement of Sindar and Noldor to contend with, but also the Noldor following his great-grandfather Finarfin from Aman, and his great-grandmother Eärwen speaking for the Teleri.

The only reason he hadn’t done it yet was that it would just confirm everyone’s impression that he was too young to be in charge and should just step aside to let Finarfin run everything. (It was tempting at times. Like right now.) He might be of age, but that wasn’t much help when his entire Council were older than him. Throwing what Uncle Oropher would term a tantrum would  _ not _ help matters.

Nor would it impress his great-grandparents, who had every right to be disappointed enough as it was. Three sons, a daughter, and a grandson had crossed the Ice, and all that was left was him – a great-grandson they hadn’t even known about – Gildor, and the assurance that Aunt Galadriel was alive as far as anyone knew.

He tried to be confident on that point for the sake of her parents, but it had been years since she and Celeborn had disappeared off East. The last word anyone had from them was a message passed back to say that Amon Ereb had fallen, with no sign of what had become of its inhabitants.

Anyone who thought his life had gotten  _ simpler _ in the years since the arrival of the Host of the West had no idea.

And of course, as King, going anywhere but his own rooms to get a bit of privacy and quiet so he might feel like himself again was out of the question. The simplest Nandor on the blasted island had more privacy and time to themselves than he did. He was lucky if he got to lay on the couch in his own sitting room for an uninterrupted hour.

He flopped onto the couch and buried his face in the end pillow. Blast Morgoth, Sauron, the War, and whoever had thought kings were a good idea in the first place. Had that been Fëanor? He was going to blame Fëanor either way – everything else in Beleriand seemed to be his fault, this might as well be, too.

Gildor barging into his rooms, dodging Erestor’s valiant effort to protect his sanctuary, would not have been pleasant at the best of times, but it was particularly unwelcome at the moment.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Gil-galad told him crossly without getting up. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Too bad, because this really can’t wait,” Gildor replied with a grin. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and drag your carcass to your hall. There’s some people waiting for you there you’ll  _ want _ to see.”

Gil-galad glared.

Everyone else always said moments like this were Gildor behaving just like his father, but he didn’t remember Uncle Ingo being nearly this annoying.

“I’ve had enough kinging for one day,” he grumbled.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to do at least a little bit of it for this lot,” Gildor shrugged without any apparent sympathy. “But on the whole, I think the most important two would rather deal with their  _ cousin _ Gil-galad, not the  _ King _ Gil-galad.”

The stress he put on the words made Gil-galad pause. It couldn’t be – could it?

“Are you telling me Elwing’s boys have turned up?” he demanded, bolting upright.

“In some style,” Gildor chuckled. “Can you drag yourself out to meet them, or should I just send Elros in to badger you in your den?”

“Don’t you dare, Inglorion,” drifted in from the outer room.

“Oh, I would dare,” Gildor grinned. “What’s more, so would Elros, I suspect.”

“I was going to tell him,” Erestor said, his disapproval of Gildor’s conduct radiating like heat from a hearth.

“Yes, but you were taking too long. And as you’ve not yet had the pleasure, I should warn you that Elros is not one of those elves born patient. Rather like this one was when we first met you.”

“Gil-galad was a child,” Erestor shot back. “He was not yet old enough to have learnt patience.”

“Elros is a child,” Gildor retorted. “He’s just shy of twenty-seven, and the sooner his cousin who also happens to be king puts in an appearance, the better, because he’s not entirely pleased to be here. And Elros hasn’t got anything like a parent handy to keep him in line.”

His tone had changed somewhat, and Gil-galad heard the warning. He’d had his mother and cousins with him when he’d been sent away, and if his father had only stood firm, his older sister would have been there too.

“Stop sniping at each other, you two,” he sighed, straightening the circlet he would have preferred to do without atop his head. “Let’s go, before Elros wanders off.”

\---

It was as well Gildor had warned him. Otherwise he might well have lost his royal composure when they entered the hall to find a tense knot of what could only be Feanorion followers, two of whom could not be mistaken for anything but bodyguards, surrounding the twins. He noted there was one other in the group who looked young – a girl he hoped would prove to be the young Sinda who had been Elwing’s handmaiden.

The boys themselves stood side by side, wearing tunics in Nolofinwean colors – but their own devices, that certainly wasn’t Eärendil’s crest – and did their best to appear at ease. It was a creditable attempt. But to a practiced eye, it was hard to miss that they were feeling out of place and uncertain.

Gil-galad knew the feeling.

He would have been able to guess which one was Elros purely by how hard a time his hapless guard was having keeping him relatively still, but the first words out of the boy’s mouth would have made it plain.

“Gildor! You might have  _ told _ us you were a kinsman too! We didn’t find out until after you’d gone.”

Elros spoke as though Gildor’s mission to Amon Ereb was but a few weeks past, not close to twenty years ago. Fortunately, if there was anyone on Balar with the temperament to deal with the boy, it was Finrod’s son.

“Don’t sound so aggrieved, young one,” Gildor chuckled. “You weren’t the only ones who didn’t recognize me. I don’t believe our mutual cousins realized who I was until I’d already been and gone.”

“How is that possible?”

Elrond sounded more puzzled than curious.

“I can’t say for sure if I met them when I was smaller than you were, but I’m sure I’d never been face to face with either of them as an adult before that,” Gildor chuckled. “It was Curufin and Celegorm who came to visit Nargothrond regularly, and occasionally Amras. I also didn’t announce myself as  _ Inglorion _ , as I was a bit uncertain how Maedhros and Maglor would feel about hosting Finrod’s son.”

“After what their brothers did, you mean,” Elrond said, though he sounded slightly uncertain.

“They wouldn’t have treated you like Celegorm did,” Elros snorted at the same time.

“Enough,” the elf at his side said quietly. “Do you recall what you were told?”

Whatever Elros intended to say was cut off by his twin treading quite firmly and unsubtly on his foot, drawing an almost comically indignant look.

“We are pleased to see you again Gildor,” Elrond cut in smoothly. “Though I am afraid it was Gil-galad we came in search of.”

Gil-galad’s heart sank.

He really shouldn’t be surprised the boys didn’t remember him. They’d only been five the last time. Twenty odd years had turned them from children big for their age into strapping lads who couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what they were – descendants of Turgon and Thingol. If they were this tall at twenty-seven…

He cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.

“Gildor is not the only one pleased to see you boys,” he said. “I was a bit hurt when our correspondence ceased, though I admit the fault was on my side. I’m afraid Gildor was the only messenger willing to risk the journey regularly, and Aunt Galadriel had several rather forceful conversations with me about not sending him back.”

Elros’ renewed glare at his brother gave away that the twins were almost certainly conversing silently. Elrond gave his twin a pointed look, but the mutinous scowl it got in return meant whatever he had said had been in vain.

“We have been sent here to your protection,” Elrond said.

His spoken words were as polite and polished as those he’d written as a little boy – probably all the more so for the years of teaching and training in between.

“We are aware you must as a matter of honor accept our presence, but we hope you will also allow our followers to remain with us, despite their prior allegiance.”

There had been an almost imperceptible pause before ‘followers’ – the lad was not yet used to being treated as a lord, Gil-galad suspected. At least not one with any actual authority. That was another feeling he was familiar with.

He looked at the two elves standing to either side of the boys.

_ The one to Elrond’s right is the captain of Maedhros’ guard, _ Gildor told him.  _ I cannot answer for who the one at Elros’ elbow originally served, but I believe he was the steward of Amon Ereb when I was there. _

The elf at Elros’ elbow was giving his charge a look that implied there would be a scolding when they were safely out of the public eye.

“And your followers,” Gil-galad began, making sure to keep his voice neutral. “They have transferred their loyalties to you?”

“If I may… my king?” Elrond’s guard asked.

The last two words hadn’t  _ quite _ stuck in his throat, but it was plain to Gil-galad that whoever this elf considered his king, it wasn’t him.

“Speak freely,” he nodded.

“My name is Pelendur. Until lately, I was Prince Maedhros’ captain. Now I am Prince Elrond’s. I am a warrior, and if it’s Kinslayers you’re worried about, I’m your only true worry. Those that have come here with us are not fighters. They’re weavers, cooks, smiths, stonemasons, or agronomists. Any good they can do in this war will not be with Prince Maedhros or Prince Kanafinwë, but they might be of some use here. And perhaps after – if there is an after – they may be pardoned and live peaceably as they have long desired to do.”

Gil-galad considered that. Plenty would see this as one more Feanorion trick. Perhaps he was a fool, but Nienna help him, he was inclined to believe Pelendur.

“You tell me I need not worry about the others, captain,” he replied slowly. “What of you? You say you had a hand in the Kinslayings.”

“Both hands,” Pelendur replied grimly. “I was at all three.”

“You admit it openly?” Gildor asked sternly.

“There is little point in trying to conceal it,” Pelendur snorted. “You doubtless have Sindar here who were at Menegroth, and my princes can tell you themselves I was at Sirion.”

Both boys looked tense, but Elrond seemed inclined to let Pelendur have his say, while Elros’ guard, or perhaps minder was more accurate, seemed to be indicating to his young charge he should  _ not _ interrupt.

“Indeed,” Gil-galad nodded. “We also have some here who might be able to tell us what role you played in Alqualondë. The others I understand wishing to quit the service of my Feanorion kinsmen. But you have not spoken of why  _ you _ would do so. Have I reason for concern?”

Pelendur looked somewhat surprised at the reference to the First Kinslaying, though it should have been no secret by now that a fleet had arrived bearing armies from the West.

“I would have remained with my prince to the end, however bitter,” Pelendur said stiffly. “But it was his command that I should look to the young princes, and ensure their safety henceforth. I will follow any order you see fit to give me so long as it does not interfere with that.”

“And if it did interfere?” Gil-galad asked, trying not to smile.

“My prince bid me make their safety my highest priority. Place them in any danger, and it will be Prince Maedhros’ command that I heed, not any word of yours.”

“A pretty speech to make to your king,” Erestor scowled.

“And yet, I think I trust it more than I might have a pretty one,” Gil-galad said thoughtfully, before Pelendur could recover from the start Erestor seemed to have given him without even trying. “Very well, Pelendur. You may stay. As may the others of your party who look to Elros and Elrond. But hear this – if I find any of you causing unrest, or if there is any hint that further kinslaying is afoot, I will have the offender shipped back across the bay.”

“I fancy the Teleri would be only too pleased to oblige,” Gildor added.

While on the surface he  _ sounded _ cheerful, there was an undercurrent that made it quite clear that it was a threat – and that he meant it.

Pelendur nodded curtly.

Gil-galad turned to Erestor.

“Find lodgings for them. Pelendur and-” he paused expectantly, raising an eyebrow at Elros’ minder.

“Handelon, my king.”

Handelon’s pause before ‘my king’ was shorter than Pelendur’s, but there all the same.

Gil-galad wondered if it was his age or his lineage they objected to – or if they’d heard about Finarfin and supposed his great-grandfather to be the person who ought to be taking charge.

“Handelon are to be lodged near the boys. The others should be lodged together, but need not be immediately to hand.”

Erestor nodded, choosing for the moment not to argue an order he no doubt disagreed with, and turned to go.

“Elros, Elrond, stay with me a bit. Your followers doubtless have things they will wish to move into their new rooms.”

“Actually, we’ve quite a bit to move into the boys’ rooms,” Handelon said, sounding almost apologetic. “Much of what’s been brought is theirs.”

“Ah. Erestor will assist you with arrangements,” Gil-galad said, though he found himself rather surprised. “But bring only the most needful things now. The rest can wait until the morning.”

Handelon bowed, and turned expectantly to Erestor, who indicated he should follow. Most of the grown elves moved to follow, but the most Pelendur was willing to do was drop a few paces behind the boys.

“Surely I am not presumed to be a danger to my young cousins, captain?” Gil-galad asked lightly.

“Of course not, my lord,” the other elf replied at once.

“In that case, as they’ve been committed to my care, you need not trouble yourself about leaving them with me any more than you would have with their previous guardians.”

Pelendur might not like it, but he did nod, and nodded to the boys.

“My princes. We will rejoin you shortly.”

Elrond’s face was a model of composure, but his brother was openly distressed to see Pelendur go.

Elros waited only until the door had closed, leaving it just the two boys, Gil-galad, and Gildor in the room before he turned anxiously to them.

“You  _ are _ truly letting them stay, right?” he asked.

Gil-galad blinked at the artless question.

What did the boy think? That he would have them ferried over the bay the moment they were out of sight and dumped ashore for the Enemy to find?

“Of course, little cousin. I said so, did I not?”

“You did,” Elrond agreed, with an inscrutable look for his brother, who was scowling.

“But?” Gil-galad prompted, for it was plain there was a ‘but’, and not just in Elros’ mind.

Elrond might be a formidable diplomat someday, but right now, he was twenty-seven, far from wherever it was he considered home, and probably no more trusted a cousin he hadn’t seen since Sirion than his brother did.

“But not publicly,” Elros pointed out, to his brother’s mortification.

“What, do Erestor and I not count?” Gildor chuckled, thankfully amused rather than insulted.

“You may be our cousin, but you are loyal to Gil-galad,” Elrond explained, sounding almost apologetic. “And Erestor is plainly similarly loyal.”

“I think you will find them similarly loyal to you also, Elrond,” Gil-galad pointed out. “And to Elros, as well. You are our young kin, after all. Nor are they the only ones. You are princes of the Noldor and the Sindar. There isn’t an elf on Balar who wishes either of you harm.”

If there was, their life would take a turn for the highly unfortunate if they were foolish enough to act on it. Not only would they have to contend with the rest of the elves on the island, they might well find themselves answering to the Lord of the Waters.

“No, if anything, they may find themselves crushed to death accidentally in all the enthusiasm,” Gildor agreed drily. “Thankfully, word hasn’t had time to get round yet, or we wouldn’t have managed such a private audience. As it is, we may be able to spare them until morning if you were planning on giving up some of your outer rooms.”

Gil-galad groaned, picturing the inevitable reaction when Uncle Oropher and the rest of the Sindar on the island learned Elwing’s sons had arrived.

“Why are you  _ always _ such an optimist?” he sighed.

“If you wanted pessimism, you should have sent me to help the rest of that lot settle in and kept Erestor here,” Gildor shrugged.

The twins looked mystified.

“You’ll find there will be quite a few people excited to find you’ve finally been sent here,” Gil-galad explained. “Fortunately for you, you arrived at a time when most folks were sitting down to their evening meal or retiring for the night. And Gildor is right – if two of the rooms in my suite are turned into bedrooms for you, we may be able to at least grant you a quiet night before the fuss begins.”

“We arrived on the late tide,” Elros said uncertainly. “At least, that’s what the sailors called it.”

“You’re not supposed to second-guess masters,” Elrond muttered to his brother.

“You don’t know any more about tides than I do,” Elros snorted. “It’s not second-guessing, it’s saying we don’t know. Which is perfectly fine.”

“You sailed?”

This was evidently news to Gildor, though Gil-galad couldn’t see how else he thought the boys would have arrived on an island.

“Only in the sense of being on a ship while people who actually know how to sail did the work,” Elrond explained.

Elros rolled his eyes.

“Having just said we don’t know anything about tides, they aren’t going to think we did the sailing. Pretty sure sailors are expected to know something about tides. And sails. And wind…”

Elrond gave his twin a  _ look,  _ and Elros quieted, but with a smirk on his face.

Gil-galad wasn’t entirely sure, having never had a sibling or even a cousin close in age, but he got the impression he was looking at a pair of brothers who might well be at the end of their respective ropes.

“I wasn’t aware most Feanorians knew much about sailing,” he said, breaking the not quite standoff.

“They didn’t sail either. It was some of Cirdan’s people,” Elros said. “At least, I think they’re Cirdan’s? They said they were Falathrim originally.”

Gil-galad managed not to glance at Gildor. He was intensely curious how  _ that _ had been arranged – though he supposed it being for the benefit of Elwing’s sons might well have been what tipped the balance.

“You mentioned dinner time,” Elros said hopefully.

“Come on, we’ll find you something in the kitchens. Just for the love of Varda don’t mention your name to anyone in there,” Gildor said, steering Elros toward the door.

That suited Gil-galad just fine. He wasn’t very experienced at being an elder, but he had the impression the twins could do with a few moments on their own. But even so, it was reasonable to expect the boy he was left with might also want dinner…

“Elrond? Are you hungry also?” he asked.

That got a shake of the head.

“When did you last eat?”

“At lunchtime,” Elrond answered. “There was a fish stew, and oatcakes. I…am not very fond of fish stew.”

“Ah. Well, you needn’t have fish stew again if you don’t like it. But if you’re sure you aren’t hungry, I suppose we might as well see about getting you a hot bath and finding a place for you to lay your weary head.”

Not to mention, getting the boy someplace private where he wouldn’t feel the need to keep a brave face on for others. They’d been lucky that no one had noticed the newcomers thus far, but that wouldn’t last long if they had a ship to unload. That was sure to be noticed.

He led the way to his suite, doing his best to keep up inconsequential but hopefully reassuring chatter for Elrond’s benefit as they went, mostly pointing out where they were so Elrond might not feel he was being led through a maze.

Princes or not, there really wasn’t much space left in his house to put them elsewhere even if he’d wanted to. Fortunately, the Noldor had grandiose ideas about how much space their princes needed, so in addition to his bedchamber and privy, his private rooms included a bathing room, sitting room, office, library, a room he hadn’t quite figured out the purpose for but Gildor claimed was for meeting people not deemed important enough to be admitted to the office or sitting room, and a room for storage that might have been intended for a grander wardrobe than his or might equally have been meant as a private archive. (He had never bothered to ask.)

If he turned the storage room into a bedchamber for one boy, perhaps the office could do for the other. He could work in the library just as easily, or move his desk into the sitting room. The sitting room, library, and outer room would be common areas – and the outer room might well actually serve some function, depending on how seriously Pelendur decided to take his guard duties. The lads were old enough that he would have liked to give them the option of their own bathing room, but there simply wasn’t space.

They were nearly to his rooms before he realized the obvious – it was all well and good to make plans as to which room should go to which boy, but he didn’t actually have extra beds to put them in tonight.

Blast.

Fortunately for Gil-galad’s peace of mind, they arrived at his rooms at the same time as Erestor, who appeared to be marshalling Handelon and two others bearing long crates.

“Fortunately, it appears someone with good sense did the loading,” Erestor greeted them. “The crates with the beds were right on top. It will take a half hour or so to assemble them, or so I am told.”

“It is not the first time we have had to move, Lord Erestor,” Handelon nodded, a faint smile playing across his face so swiftly Gil-galad nearly missed it. “And this was a planned move. You have only to show us where you wish them set up, and it will be done before Prince Elros has finished eating.”

Gil-galad might have been wary of letting Feanorians into his rooms had Elrond not brightened at the sight of them.

He led them in, and pointed to the rooms he had in mind. Handelon looked slightly nonplussed at being told that the office would be cleared in the morning.

“Would you not prefer it to be packed properly now?” he asked.

It appeared he and Erestor were actually in agreement on the point, for Erestor nodded decisively.

“Yes, that is a much better plan,” he said.

“I’m sure I can trust Elrond not to destroy my office for  _ one night _ ,” Gil-galad protested, only to be politely but firmly ignored as Erestor and his new ally directed their helpers where to set down the crates and how best to move things –  _ carefully, mind you! –  _ into the library for proper rearrangement in the morning.

He sighed and left them to it. If there was one thing he’d learned about tactics, it was when a strategic retreat was wise.

“Here, Elrond, you don’t need to stand around looking awkward while they do whatever it is they’ve decided is to be done,” he sighed. “Come make yourself comfortable in the sitting room. Once it looks like they’re reasonably close to finished, you can have a hot bath and call it a night.”

“Thank you,” the boy murmured, looking genuinely grateful as he sank onto the couch.

Gil-galad felt downright churlish at having begrudged moving from the same couch not an hour ago.

“You’re also not obliged to make polite conversation with me,” Gil-galad added. “I remember quite well what it’s like to be in a new place when you didn’t particularly want to be and much too tired for people.”

“You do?” Elrond looked up at him in surprise.

“I was sent to the Falas at about the same age you were when you left Sirion,” Gil-galad told him. “My father said it was for my safety, but that didn’t make it any easier to be taken away from him, my older sister, all my friends, and nearly everyone I knew.”

“How did you manage?” Elrond asked, sounding much older than any child should.

“There were a few differences,” Gil-galad admitted. “For one, my mother was with me.”

He would have continued, but for the war that seemed to have broken out on Elrond’s face – a battle between hope and resignation.

“I… they said at the harbor there were folk who had come from the West,” Elrond said hesitantly.

Gil-galad nodded.

“Was my mother with them?”

The words tumbled out in a rush, and Gil-galad almost hated himself for the answer he had to give. Elrond must have seen it in his face before he said it, for the boy’s expression fell.

“I’m sorry, lad. Neither of your parents came with them. The Amanyar tell us they aren’t permitted to return to mortal lands.”

Elrond did his best to hide his disappointment, and Gil-galad wished to any Vala that cared to listen that he had known the boy just a bit better before having to answer that question, for he suspected Elrond would not be at ease accepting comfort from a kinsman who was practically a stranger to him.

“You said your mother was with you when you were sent to the Falas?” Elrond asked, clearly trying to steer away from further mention of Elwing.

“Yes, as were Gildor and Celebrimbor. Though I didn’t have a brother who was just as unhappy as I was about being sent away poking at me when I was unsettled myself.”

Elrond flushed.

“It’s no fault of yours – or Elros’ – that you and your brother have been sent here. And it’s perfectly understandable that you are unhappy at being sent away from your family,” Gil-galad said gently.

He was quite proud he’d managed that with no hesitation whatsoever. Whatever else they’d done, so far as he knew, Maedhros and Maglor had taken good care of the twins. And he felt safer on this ground than he did on the subject of mothers.

“What’s more, if you think the rooms you’re being given are not comfortable, or you need more space-”

“No, no! This is more than enough,” Elrond said at once. “You’re giving each of us a room, we’ve always shared before.”

“I’m afraid none of the rooms I can spare you are big enough for two lads your size,” Gil-galad said ruefully. “Besides, I thought it rather looked like a bit of space to yourselves might do you both good.”

“Will we be allowed outside here?” Elrond asked hesitantly.

“Outside?” Gil-galad repeated in puzzlement. “Of course. You’re not prisoners, Elrond. You’re… well I suppose I should call you my wards, though I’m sure just about everyone will find that ridiculous.”

“Why should it be ridiculous?” Elrond asked, looking as puzzled as Gil-galad had been a moment before.

“I’m not all that much older than you, young one,” he chuckled. “Just barely of age, at least as elves here in Beleriand reckon it, and practically still a child so far as our Amanyar kin are concerned. Gildor and Erestor may be the only ones who credit me with being adult enough to take on the responsibility for the two of you!”

Elrond looked to be thinking on that.

“But at any rate, so long as you leave word for me or Gildor, you are free to come and go as you like when you have nowhere else to be. The island is safe, there are no orcs here to worry about as there must have been wherever you were before.”

“Nogrod,” Elrond answered. “We have been in Nogrod since we left Amon Ereb.”

“Maedhros took you to live among the naugrim?” Gil-galad all but spluttered.

And not just any dwarves, but Nogrod, the dwarven kingdom responsible for Thingol’s death!

“The hadhodrim,” Elrond said with a frown, “have been good allies.”

That was more than enough to make Gil-galad steer clear of another sensitive subject – especially as he was uncomfortably certain he’d end up refereeing the heated discussion that would doubtless ensue when Oropher heard about this.

Though part of him couldn’t avoid feeling it might be fun to let Elros vent his frustrations once Oropher shared  _ his _ opinions on dwarves…

“As you say, lad,” he agreed. “Tonight may be just a bed, but we’ll get your room set up to your satisfaction as soon as may be, and you can spend all your free time outside if that’s what strikes your fancy.”

“All might be a bit much. But it would be nice to see stars and walk on the shore,” Elrond said, with what might just have been the first genuine smile Gil-galad had seen on him today.

“Perhaps that might wait until tomorrow night?” he suggested. “I don’t think you’re quite up to any long rambles this evening. And I’m afraid tomorrow threatens to be a long day.”

Elrond did not so much as sigh.

“I suppose you are right. If it would not be too much trouble – might I have that hot bath now? If they are not done with my bed soon, I will be just as happy to sleep here if I will not be in the way.”

Gil-galad smiled.

“I’ll show you the bathing room, lad. Then I’ll see if I can’t hurry them along. No reason you shouldn’t sleep in a bed.”

He probably ought to have been worried at the prospect of trying to finish bringing up two boys, but somehow he felt more cheerful for their presence. Maybe it was just having one less worry at the back of his mind, but he suspected Elrond was someone he might come to appreciate as much as Gildor, Erestor, or Celebrimbor. And if Elros was nothing else, he’d at least be entertaining.

By the time Gildor herded Elros in twenty minutes later, Elrond was already fast asleep.

Elros took one look at his new bedroom, pronounced it ‘big’, ‘empty’, and ‘perfect’, and faceplanted onto his bed without so much as taking off his clothes.

Satisfied that he now had two sleeping charges, Gil-galad reclaimed his couch. Erestor had gone to sort out rooms for Pelendur and Handelon now that the twins were set, but Gildor slumped into the armchair opposite him.

“Well, this should liven things up around here, don’t you think?” he said.

Gil-galad snorted.

“That’s one way of putting it. We didn’t really need livening up, there’s a war on.”

Gildor grinned.

“Always looking on the bright side. I’m not sure which will cause more headaches – the excitement about the twins, or the outrage about the folk they brought with them. Though I’m glad they’re here and safe.”

“I suppose I better tell my great-grandparents first thing in the morning,” Gil-galad mused.

“I was going to do that!” Gildor protested.

“Being king has its privileges,” Gil-galad said smugly. “Cheer up, you get to tell Oropher.”

He didn’t even try to dodge the pillow Gildor launched at him.


End file.
